


Merry Christmas (Now Get Off My Porch)

by youngerdrgrey



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Best Christmas Ever, Christmas, Episode Tag, F/M, Gen, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3507530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngerdrgrey/pseuds/youngerdrgrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An orphan's Christmas isn't all Rebecca's makes it out to be, so Wes calls for reinforcements. // Response to "Best Christmas Ever"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas (Now Get Off My Porch)

.

.

Before Wes’ mom died, every year, the two of them would get up at nine AM on the Saturday before Christmas and get their tree from storage. They’d put it together in the crook between the couch and the dining room table, and there was never enough space, so the branches would cover one of the place settings and also poke a little into whoever sat on the left side of the couch. He always made a show out of brushing the plastic pines off his clothes so she wouldn’t have to feel bad about it.

They only had a few days to decorate, so the tree wouldn’t just be ornaments. She’d stick particularly big pay stubs up there. He’d put string around his toys, or his favorite books, or even really good school projects, and then put those on the tree too. They never really had a theme, just celebrating another year together.

Then his mom died, and his aunt Tracy only liked ornaments on her tree.

.

He doesn’t bother decorating anymore. Rebecca seems to like it, but he figures that’s just to escape her own holiday memories. An orphan’s Christmas really only seems fun when there’s a worse alternative out there.

Somewhere between the ice cream for breakfast and the ramen curry feast that’s meant to be their lunch, Wes’ phone goes off.

 

> _I sent 25$ to your account. Merry Christmas x_

He stares down at the message. At least his family knows where he is. He’s not like Rudy, or Lila, or Sam….

Rebecca pokes in over his shoulder, her bowl in hand. “Who’s that?”

“My aunt.” He pockets the phone. Considers letting it go and slipping back into their world, but…. “I should call her, actually. Say hi. I’ll be back.”

He grabs his keys on the way out, and then he’s taking the stairs and unlocking his bike and then, he starts riding.

Less people on the streets, especially the closer he gets to the university. He avoids turning near the woods where they chopped up Sam’s body. Or the center of campus where the bonfire hid their smoke. He pedals faster. Goes farther.

The wandering helps some. The wind against his cheeks and the quiet thrill of leaning back and closing his eyes and just not being anything for a few seconds.

Just darkness.

Darkness, wind, and -- Rebecca croaking on the floor, Sam’s hands around her, the trophy and --

Wes swerves on his bike. Pants. Keeps his eyes open and pedals a little harder.

.

He winds up Annalise’s porch. All the lights are off in the house, so she’s probably gone home, or somewhere else for the day. Bonnie and Frank too, though, he doesn’t know what kind of home any of them have outside of this one. Still, maybe… he could send a message. That’s what people did on days like this. Though, he can’t really recall a time when Annalise ever answered a text message. Maybe a phone call then? It makes sense, after all, she’s probably not in there. Who’d want to spend Christmas in the house their husband died in?

In the house he killed her husband in.

He tugs his phone out of his pocket and scrolls to her name in his favorites. She might not answer him. She might be busy, or avoiding him, or --

“Is something wrong?”

Well, that’s one type of greeting.

“No, I—“

“Then why are you calling? Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Not really, especially since I’m standing outside your house right now.”

He probably shouldn’t have said that. It gets quiet on the other end, and he fidgets with the handlebars on the bike he’s still holding up.

“I’m not home,” she tells him.

“Good thing I didn’t knock then.”

Another moment of silence.

“What did you want?”

“Just….“ He switches the hand he holds his phone in so he can lean his bike against the house. “You never mentioned a family, and I wasn’t sure if—“ she had anyone, if maybe being physically alone was something they shared.

“If I was as pathetic as you all make me out to be?” she asks.

“No! Of course not.” They all idolize her. They follow her every move. Michaela literally admitted to wanting to be Annalise. Does she not get that?

“I took off right after he died. Gave an exam, hid in that house, and then left.”

“You’re not pathetic.” His brow furrows. “Wait, left where?”

A beat.

“A hotel. Just to clear my head.”

‘You want company?’ It’s on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it. Swallows it down. The last thing she probably wants is a kid like him around, current history especially.

He nods, mostly just to have something to do. “Sounds nice. A relaxing Christmas.”

“Well, we all could use some relaxation.”

He says, “Right,” but it comes out more like a sigh than an agreement. He can’t exactly relax when he keeps picturing Sam, or his mom, or the giant, recognizable engagement ring that’s probably hidden in a bush waiting to get them all caught. There’s no -- how can Annalise even suggest taking a break at this point?

There’s a rustle on her end of the line, like sheets shoved to the side and feet hitting the carpet.

“You do need to relax. Go home. Talk to your girlfriend. Smile.”

“I --” want to, he does, but, “What I did--”

“Defending Rebecca. Defending you all.”

Killing someone.

“After my mom died, everything felt off. Now, I did that.” To Annalise. He took away her person. “How can I just forget that?”

Her voice gets harder. Less forgiving. “You just do. Or you give up.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“Which one?”

He doesn’t respond.

She sighs. “Sam wouldn’t have been doing anything today anyway. If he were here. He damn near hated the holiday.” Wes imagines she’s sitting on the hotel bed around now, fingers absentmindedly bunching at the sheets, eyes focused out the window. Hopefully she has a view.

She gives an almost breathless chuckle. “You know he never wanted to do anything beyond decorate a tree? Even then, it was more so that all of my clients and his colleagues wouldn’t think we were Satanists. We always swapped gifts in the morning and had dinner at night. Sometimes with his sister, other times, just the two of us.

“It was just another day, Wes. Don’t make it more than it has to be.”

Somehow, that helps. So, he nods. Resolves to buy her a present and leave it for her when she gets back.

He eases up on the handlebars to his bike. Glances up towards the room he knows she’s not in.

“Merry Christmas, Annalise.”

She pauses again, then says, “Merry Christmas. Now, get off my porch.”

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are welcomed and encouraged :)  
> Check me out on tumblr for more Wes/Annalise.


End file.
